


Love x Is

by brocon



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Breeding, Character Study, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Eye Gouging, F/M, Gore, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Impregnation, Lactation, Non-Explicit Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Psychological Trauma, Self-Mutilation, Very young Illumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocon/pseuds/brocon
Summary: Illumi knew love. He loved his family so much it was sometimes hard to breathe. He loved them to the point that non-family didn’t even feel like people. But this was the first time he’d heard of real love. “Do I know real love?”Kikyo smiled at him, her streaked face twisting, the wrinkles of a young mother darkening. “If you don’t, you will. You won’t become your father—I won’t let you.”He couldn’t wait to see the look of pride and happiness come over his mother’s face when he mastered the real love lesson. “I want to learn.”
Relationships: Illumi Zoldyck/Kikyou Zoldyck, Kikyou Zoldyck/Silva Zoldyck
Comments: 15
Kudos: 46





	Love x Is

**Author's Note:**

> Please be very mindful of the warnings! This fic has themes of domestic violence, self-harm, and psychological manipulation.
> 
> There is no explicit sex in this fic, just sexual tension and situations that are sexually charged/implied sex.
> 
> This is my interpretation on Kikyo's disposition and the family dynamics before Killua was born. Please enjoy ❤️

It was 4am when Illumi stirred from his sleep, the sound of shrieking dragging his tired body from bed. He’d been training all day, his arms felt like they had weights still tied to them, and even the soles of his feet ached when they touched the floor. Every part of his body screamed for him to crawl back into bed, back into the warmth and safety of his blankets so his muscles could properly heal after the hell he put them through every day.

But he couldn’t. From beneath his door, he could see that the hallway was lit up brighter than the sun, his pores catching on fire with anxiety. The only time their manor was lit so brightly was when things were really bad.

He pulled the door open; the lights making his skin crawl and heat up. It was like he’d walked out into broad daylight or into a furnace. The shrieking twisted down the hallways, louder and louder with the sound of manic high heels. A deep voice layered beneath it, tense and angry and tired. Milluki was crying, somewhere deep within the stone walls. He had only been in the world for a few weeks. Butlers muttered behind their hands, hunkered down behind doors while hoping they wouldn’t be pulled into it. Sound travelled faster, echoed louder when the lights were on.

Illumi’s tired brain decided he should go find Milluki, pluck him out of his crib, and bounce the heavy baby in his sore arms until they both could go back to sleep. Shielding his eyes, he stepped out into the golden hallway, spotlights blooming circles of heat on the back of his head. The voices began forming into words, wrapping around his ears.

“You’re going to wake him—stop.”

“Don’t you tell me to stop! Don’t you dare. He’s _my_ son.”

“You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

“I see how little you think of me. Don’t think I don’t. You and your father, laughing at me.”

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Illumi yawned, closing his eyes for only a moment before the voices were on top of him, their presences rushing over him like a wave. The click of the heels was right behind him, his small body halted by a tight grip on his wrist, the overwhelming smell of his mother’s perfume and blood jolting him wide awake. Her voice right in his ear, she screamed. “He is _my_ son. I decide—”

“Kikyo—”

“I will decide! You bastard. I’ll take my sons and I’ll run away.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep. You and your father. Then you won’t have to worry about me being a worthless wife!”

Silva sighed heavily. There was blood soaked into his tunic, and Illumi couldn’t tell who it belonged to. Silva stepped past her, removing her hand from Illumi’s wrist, and grabbing the back of Illumi’s shirt. “Illu—go back to bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”

In a flash of his mother’s sharpened nails, Illumi’s shirt ripped, the force of two adult hands throwing him to the floor. “He’s my baby! Mine! Don’t touch me!”

Illumi’s wide eyes drank in his parents from the floor. The lights shone so brightly above them, both of their faces covered in shadow.

Leaving Illumi on the floor, Silva grabbed her arm, squeezing hard enough to break a normal woman’s bones. But Illumi knew his mother was not a normal woman. “You’re being ridiculous. Come back to bed and turn out these godforsaken lights.”

“NO!” She thrashed her body away from him, the skin on his knuckles breaking open from a movement too fast for Illumi to see, and she wrenched out of his grasp, the sleeve on her dress tearing from the force. _Now both of our clothes are torn_ , Illumi thought to himself, but remained silent. Milluki was still crying above the hum of the electricity burning in the rarely used bulbs overhead. “My dress—what have you done?” She tore at the scraps of fabric hanging from the sleeves, ripping it even more. It was such a pretty dress, the silk sleeves a mint green hue with purple and jade flowers embroidered down the collar and chest. But she continued to tear it apart with her nails, bits of fabric floating to the stone floor at Illumi’s bare feet. Slowly she clawed her chest until her breasts were exposed, pink nipples hard and angry. Silva placed his fingers on his temples, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Her eyes met Illumi’s, as if she remembered he was there, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him to his feet, pulling and pulling until he climbed into her arms, cradled on her hip and latched his lips around her lactating breast. The milk had been meant for Milluki, but it soothed him. Her bare chest was sweaty, the torn silk sticking fast to her skin. He could feel her rapid heartbeat fluttering like a killer hummingbird as he rested his hand on her soft breast. She petted his head then, soothing where she had pulled.

He loved his mother.

“We’re not done talking about this. Illumi will go through his training, whether you agree or not.” His giant feet stomped away, turning off lights as he walked down the hall. Only Illumi and Kikyo were left in the glaring light, her foot angrily tapping as she held him close to her.

“Mama’s here, Mama’s here.” She said, patting his back. “Come on, we’ll sleep in Mama’s bed.”

As she carried Illumi down the hall, Milluki stopped crying. Either Silva or one of the butlers must have picked him up.

Kikyo and Silva’s bed was the biggest bed Illumi had ever seen. Even his father, as big as he was, fit comfortably in this size of bed. The wrought iron headboard reminded Illumi of the stronghold that was their front gate, but the pillows and sheets were downy, like sleeping on the wings of an angel in a painting. His mother liked paintings of angels who were crying. He bounced down, watching as Kikyo stripped the destroyed dress from her body. “Mama—what training?”

Her face darkened for a moment as she let her dark hair cascade down her scarred back. She was so pale, the marks and scars covering her body stood out even from across the room. Perching naked in front of her vanity, she brushed her hair. “Heir training.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you worry about it. Your Papa is just being a worrywart, he doesn’t believe in my ability to give him the baby he needs.”

Illumi stretched out on the bed, touching his toes and watching her naked back move with each stroke of the brush. He remembered how she looked when she was pregnant, only a short time ago. It was strange to think she could plan to look like that again, with her stomach all swollen up, and then make it a reality as easily as turning a light switch on. “Well—you’ll have another baby, right?”

“The next baby will be the heir for sure. I can feel it. He’s getting worked up over nothing.”

He didn’t know what an heir was, but he’d heard the word a lot in the four years he’d been alive. To ask would make him feel like he wasn’t enough of a Zoldyck to know, make him feel like he was on the outside looking in, so he rarely asked what certain words meant. He felt as though he should have been born knowing these sacred Zoldyck words. “The next baby will be younger than Milluki! And the heir! Then there will be three of us.”

“Mmhm.” She stood up, naked body crossing the room and crawling onto the bed next to Illumi, lifting his torn shirt up and over his head, throwing it to the floor. She traced his collarbone with a nail. “You look just like your Mama, you know it? You’re a very lucky boy.”

She was beautiful, so Illumi smiled. “Milluki too.”

“Milluki too.” Crawling gracefully to the head of the bed, she reclined on the mountain of pillows and patted the space next to her. “Come here, Illu.”

He ran his hand up her leg, feeling the bump of scars among the smoothness of her thigh, up her bare hip, and curvy stomach, still a bit round from when she was pregnant with Milluki. Her dark eyes caught the light, swallowing it up whole behind her long eyelashes. This was how they looked alike, he realized. His eyes didn’t look anything like his father or grandfather.

Laying his fluffy bedhead on Kikyo’s arm, he wished she had brushed his hair too. “How many brothers am I gonna have?”

“How many do you want?”

“Um,” he said, pulling a number from thin air, “seven.”

She pulled him closer, onto her chest, her dark eyes settling on him with a sweet look that was nothing like how she’d been in the hallway. “Then I’ll give you seven little brothers. And you’ll always be able to drink from Mama.”

The lights turned down low, Illumi’s heart slowing with the return of darkness. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until his body relaxed, and his eyelids drooped heavily. His mouth fell on her nipple automatically, a rush of absolute comfort flooding his brain until it felt numb. Toes curling, his eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep to the sounds of his mother breathing.

This time, his mother couldn’t just flip on a light switch and get pregnant again. Years passed and her stomach didn’t get any bigger. Illumi began heir training and learned what it meant—also that his mother’s face darkened whenever he talked about it. The screaming matches between Silva and Kikyo grew in size and intensity, lighting up their manor night after night as Milluki was learning to walk. Eventually, Milluki stopped being woken up from it, sleeping through the night no matter what happened in the hallways.

Illumi learned to sleep through it too, if he wanted. But part of him wanted to peek his head out, see if there was anything his presence could do to quell the anger. Especially since his name was so often attached to their lips. Sometimes, if the argument was wearing down and they saw his face, it would send Kikyo howling again about his training. But if he came out at the right moment, at the crux of their argument, she would take him as her partner in the argument, picking him up or kissing him sweetly, while ignoring Silva until he backed down and left. Illumi had gotten good at sensing when he should come out of his room or when he should hide. An argument was like music, he discovered. You had to have a sense of timing, just like playing the piano. Illumi had gotten very good at playing the piano.

Then suddenly, the fighting stopped. The calm before the storm arrived with Silva refusing to come home, booking assignment after assignment with little to no downtime at home. Zeno took over Illumi’s training during the day, and Illumi took his father’s side of the bed at night. Sometimes Milluki slept with them too, in that huge bed, to help fill the giant hole that Silva’s presence left night after night.

“I’ll kill him!” Kikyo said, breaking another one of his knickknacks, slashing through the twentieth pair of his underwear, kicking his nightstand over and over until it splintered and the front caved in. The drawers stopped working, her foot red and swollen from not using any Nen to protect herself.

Milluki woke, starting to fuss and trying to roll over onto his stomach, whining and kicking his legs in a temper tantrum, so Illumi grabbed him beneath his arms, dragging him up and onto his lap. The heavy boy’s eyes were small and lost in the great roundness of his head.

“Illu, I want a snack.” He cried softly, burying his squishy face into Illumi’s legs.

“I’ll get you some when Mama sleeps,” he whispered back, rubbing Milluki’s back.

She sat next to them, perched so far on the edge of the bed that Illumi wondered if the mattress was holding her up at all. “You, my baby, you know what love is. Your father has no idea.” Ah. She was starting to cry now, hands muddied with black stains of eye makeup.

“Love is,” Milluki echoed, as if reminding everyone he was there too. “Love is…”

She sniffled, wiping her nose and trying to clean herself up with a sleeve. She was really crying, not performing the ability Silva called “crocodile tears” that could dry up in an instant. “It’s doing anything for them. Anything for love.”

Illumi wondered if _anything_ meant _getting pregnant_ , in this case. Anything meant anything—and the concept of infinitesimal anythings made the blood pound dully behind his ears. Milluki stuck his thumb in his mouth, kicking his tiny socked feet as he tried to get comfortable. It made Illumi wonder about how Milluki had been born, since he’d learned recently the way that babies were pushed out. Before he’d learned properly, he’d thought babies were sliced out of bellies. When he went with his father on assignments and sliced women open, he wondered if they would ever find a baby.

Illumi had been outside playing when Milluki had been born, and no one had come to get him, so he hadn’t gotten to see Kikyo push him out. _Had she cried real tears then, too?_ Illumi decided he wouldn’t miss the birth of his next sibling. He would love them even more if he got to see them from the moment of creation to their entrance into the world.

“Real love,” she stood, an energy coursing through her again suddenly, manically. “Most people don’t know _real love_.”

Illumi knew love. He loved his family so much it was sometimes hard to breathe. He loved them to the point that non-family—butlers included—didn’t even feel like people. They were dots on a screen, their blips barely registering in his brain, not worth the effort to concentrate on unless he needed to. But this was the first time he’d heard of _real_ love. “Do I know real love?”

She smiled at him, her streaked face twisting, the wrinkles of a young mother darkening. “If you don’t, you will. You won’t become your father—I won’t let you.”

Illumi loved his father. He wanted to be like his father—so this came as a shock to him. He didn’t want to stop becoming like Silva, his big hands powerful enough to hold his entire family at once, his eyebrows upturning kindly when Illumi needed help with a hard task. But if his father didn’t know real love, that was a problem. He grabbed the hem of his mother’s nightgown. “Mama.”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you teach Papa too? Then he’ll help you have another brother, won’t he?”

“Oh, Illu. You’re so wise. My baby, my baby, my baby, my baby—you’re so right! Why should I despair that your Papa doesn’t understand? He was never taught properly, is all. He doesn’t know the extent of my love, of my dedication. I’ll simply have to become his role model. To become the role model for you and Millu and this whole family. That’s what a mother does. Instead of nagging like a weak-willed wench, a mother throws herself onto the fire. She proves her love, teaches by example.”

Illumi smiled. He didn’t know what she meant, but she seemed so much happier than he’d seen her in years. A flower bloomed in the pit of his chest and warmed his veins—somehow, despite being just a weak little boy, he’d done something amazing. He’d made his mother so very happy, and not just in the way he did when he laid in his father’s empty side of the bed. He wondered what kind of training it would be. He was very good at his lessons, always receiving a smile from his father and grandfather. He couldn’t wait to see the look of pride and happiness come over his mother’s face when he mastered the real love lesson. “I want to learn.”

The tension slackened from her shoulders like a landslide, her eyelashes blinking long and heavy in exhaustion. She surveyed both of her children in the center of her bed, holding each other for dear life. “Millu!” She huffed, her voice so much quieter and filled with gentle chastisement, “Get your thumb out of your mouth.” Her body swayed like a banner, so weightless as she lifted her nightgown from her body. Snatching Milluki from Illumi’s arms, she placed him on her left breast, crawling into bed.

“Mama, no.” Milluki said weakly. “ _Imnotababy_.”

 _Where had he learned that?_ Illumi felt his heart pound, watching Kikyo grab the back of Milluki’s head, press his lips to her nipple, and hold his nose until he opened his mouth. Television. That must have been where he learned it. Mama frequently complained about how much television was a corruption in their home. Illumi licked his lips, nearly putting his fingers in his mouth before remembering that was bad.

The TV corruption wasn’t strong enough to make Milluki fight. He yawned around her nipple before settling in and latching on, fluttering his eyes closed in comfort.

“Millu, are you getting any?” Illumi felt antsy, bobbing his head around at various angles to see if any milk was coming out. Her breasts hadn’t produced anything since Milluki had weaned, Illumi knew for a fact. With no other pregnancy, the milk wouldn’t come again, would it? Illumi didn’t exactly know. He just thought that was a rule.

Milluki didn’t answer, obviously drawn into a bliss from the comfort of the skin to skin contact with her.

“Of course he is, Illu. Come now, it’s bedtime.”

He felt like a fool for asking. His mother never did anything without a reason. His family was the smartest in the world, and he was lucky to have them. His mother could do anything she set her mind to. Anything. _Ah—this must be the first test of real love!_ He hadn’t even realized. Stupid Illumi. He’d never get anywhere in these new lessons if he didn’t wise up.

He stood up on the bed, trying to move his body like a banner as he raised his nightgown over his head. Never in his entire life could he be as graceful as her, but that was okay, because no one could. Pressing his skin against hers, he latched on to the left breast, holding Milluki’s tiny hand atop her sternum. They all breathed together, and after a few dry draws, bits of milk began to touch his tongue. Eventually, the flow was steady. Real love really was more powerful than anything his father or grandfather had ever taught him. He couldn’t wait to learn it fully.

The next morning, Kikyo brought her tired boys breakfast in bed. Milluki plowed through his brown sugared oatmeal while Illumi ate his toast and drank his orange juice, not feeling like he’d gotten enough sleep. Kikyo’s heart hadn’t slowed beneath his ear all night—every time he woke up, she was awake, just staring into the darkness, whispering to herself. It was impossible for him to sleep well while his mother’s body was tense, her brain active even as the sun rose.

“Finish your juice, Illu.” Her eyes were tired but alert, looking straight through Illumi, piercing the bedroom walls, and getting lost somewhere far away.

He obediently gulped it down, even though he usually let Milluki finish the final bits of whatever he was eating or drinking. “Papa is supposed to teach me Rhythm Echo today. Do you think he will come home?”

“He will.”

Illumi slid off the bed, stretching his body, which felt good after a long break from intense training. Without his father home, he was unable to start any new major training regimens, and all of his injuries had healed. When the butlers trained him, they rehashed old lessons that Illumi’s body could pull off easily. But finally, he would start a new challenge under the kind, watchful eyes of the father he hadn’t seen in so long. Maybe he could even talk his father into helping his mother have another baby brother. If Silva knew how happy it would make her, he would understand, Illumi was sure.

Then a swirling hit his stomach, a pressure that churned deeply in his gut, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at the rush of sudden pain that flooded his body. Even as he held his stomach, the pain set his muscles on fire, his eyes squinting and straining. Falling to his knees, he tried to wretch, but it felt like there was a block in his body, as if it had unlearned the ability to vomit. Over and over, he tried to vomit and came up dry. His toes curled in pain, his nails marking up the stone beneath him, heart pounding in his head as a migraine rushed into his skull. “ _Wha—_ ” He found he couldn’t speak either.

Kikyo’s heels appeared in front of his nose. He reached out to touch the sharp toe of her shoe, vision darkening and legs losing the strength to hold him. Legs twitching on the cold floor, his consciousness fell away from him.

When Illumi awoke, he was in the Zoldyck manor infirmary. The beeping told him his heart was working, that he was alive. The screaming told him that both of his parents were there, at the foot of his bed. The infirmary, despite being in a subterranean room, was so bright it felt blinding, even behind his eyelids.

“—could have _died_!”

“You wanted this. If you’re going to train him to be the heir, you need to do it right. Not disappear for months and let him fall behind.”

“That’s not your decision. I was fourteen when I—”

“It is when you won’t impregnate me. If you don’t want to give me another chance to give you an heir, I’ll make Illumi ready. I won’t give you the chance to knock up some other whore.”

“I told you—there is no one else! God damn you for not listening to me. Where are you getting these insane ideas?”

Illumi kept his eyes closed. Now was not the moment to come out of hiding.

“You don’t love me. You don’t love Illumi. You stay away for months and won’t try with me. You’re ready to abandon us because I failed twice.”

“No—no, honey. Kikyo. Listen to me. I’m not looking for a new family.”

“ _Don’t touch me!_ Not unless you’re ready to fuck me. I won’t go back to that shithole of a city. I won’t do it. You can’t abandon us like this.”

Illumi opened his eyes, immediately squinting from the bright lights and white sheets.

“Illu—you’re awake.”

His father’s body threw a shadow over Illumi’s bed, covering him completely. A large hand landed on Illumi’s head like a heavy hat. Illumi’s vision finally focused, seeing the IV line trailing from the back of his hand and cascading down the side of the white bed. How much time had passed? His head was still splitting, the burning citrus of orange juice lingering in the back of his throat. “Ah—Papa—” He was surprised to find that his voice still worked. It had been a long time since he’d experienced a pain so intense that he passed out.

“You okay, son?”

Illumi nodded, taking all of his strength to move his head. The movement made Silva’s hand ruffle his hair, and it felt good. He closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the hand was gone. The presence of his father was completely consumed by the presence of his mother, which choked out every corner of the room. Even the lights seemed to grow brighter, the dull hum making Illumi’s teeth ache. He realized he had been clenching his teeth ever since he felt the presence of his parents in the room.

“Illumi, open your eyes! This is the lesson I told you about. I will teach both of you what real love is.” He could hear in Kikyo’s voice that she hadn’t gotten any sleep, although there was plenty of energy and force behind her words.

Opening his eyes, the image of his mother holding a scalpel came into view, like pulling a sheet off a canvas. A carefully composed painting, his mother was inseparable from things like scalpels, as if they were sewn directly into her psyche. Despite himself, his heart quickened, not knowing what she planned to do. No one ever knew what she was going to do.

His father’s voice broke through the silence, sticking limply to the stone walls around them, knowing that she wouldn’t listen even before it left his mouth. “Come on now, put that down.”

Her cheeks were wet, but no tears were currently falling, so it almost appeared to be sweat dripping from her eyelids. A painting of a crying angel with a scalpel. The bun on her head was messy, dark hair sticking up in static desperation. Illumi remembered the sound of her rampant heartbeat against his ear all night, like a rabbit just before its neck is snapped. It made him dizzy to think about. She sniffled, taking a step away from Silva, holding the scalpel higher in the air.

She spoke like her throat was on fire. “Impregnate me, if you love me.”

Silva’s ice-cold eyes looked to Illumi. Those who didn’t know him would think he was indifferent, disapproving. But Illumi knew—he was embarrassed to have these words come out in front of his son. Somehow, after all of their years of fighting in front of him, he still had a sense of humiliation about it. Illumi didn’t get what was so embarrassing about making little brothers. If his father would just do it, kept _trying_ , it would make his mother so happy. It would make everyone happy, from Milluki to the butlers that hid around the corner when they got in murderous arguments.

“Kikyo—we’ll talk about this later.”

No, it wasn’t her throat that was burning. It came from somewhere deeper. Her entire soul was erupting inside her, molten and dangerous, reaching across the room and evaporating every bit of oxygen. “If you love me, you’ll do it _right now_.”

Silva’s chill wavered, but didn’t melt. “This is hardly the time. Our son is in a hospital bed.”

She gave up on him, turning her eyes to Illumi completely. He felt the burn, and wanted to throw the covers from his body. “Illu—don’t look away. Mama’s love is on display for you. Learn well.”

She raised the scalpel to her forehead, and for a moment, Illumi thought she might stab him. But she brought the blade to her lower eyelid, pulling it down with her finger before plunging the scalpel beneath the exposed eyeball. No hesitation, only an overflow of passion and heat. Blood began to flood down, immediately, and she screamed louder than she had ever screamed before. Illumi wanted to pinch his eyes shut and cover his ears, thinking if he could shut it all out that her pain would stop. But he was obedient. Rooted to his white bed under the bright spotlights above, he watched his mother’s love force the scalpel deeper into her own skull, blood rushing in black rivers down her wrist, dripping from her elbow and onto the floor. Working the handle into different angles as if using a crowbar, hearing flesh rip open, her cries rising like steam and choking out the room.

Silva lunged for her, expletives leaving his mouth like water on hot concrete, evaporating in the weight of her agony. Illumi’s eyes couldn’t keep up with their limbs as they struggled, her blood blessing everything in the room and covering Silva’s clothing, even landing in bright droplets on the white sheets of Illumi’s bed.

Illumi heard the pop. Silva had to break her wrist to remove the scalpel from her hand. But it was too late—her eyeball, filled with blood from the trauma of the scalpel—laid at their feet, discarded like a grape that had slipped from Milluki’s fat fingers. Silva’s voice raised above the sound of her pained panting, calling for the butlers to summon emergency medical attention.

“Now—” she could barely speak, her body swaying like a broken banner in the wind. “Put a baby in me.”

Silva’s big bare hands tore a white strip of cloth from the bedsheets, tying it around her head to inhibit the socket’s bleeding. The blood continued to soak through, smeared against her nose and lips, dripping down her chin. Illumi had never seen that much blood from a living body before, only ones entering death. He wondered how she was still conscious, but the word _love_ answered him from somewhere in his chest. It lived there now, he realized. That word. The lesson. It would live in this new corner of his chest forever. It was soothing to think about. It made looking at her blood much easier.

She pressed her lips against Silva’s; he held her shoulders, trying to steady her shaking body. His lips moved with a streak of wet blood on them, like lipstick. His white hair was a blanket of snow, marred with freshly fallen blood melting holes in the surface. “Stop—don’t move— _why would you do this_ —”

“Now. Right now.” She grabbed his hair roughly, throwing a corpse on the surface of the snow. “Fuck me. _Love me._ For me and for your son.”

The glacier splintered, a _crack_ that was heard for miles. “Don’t be stupid—I couldn’t—I can’t—even if I _wanted to_ right now—”

She shoved him away, stepping back and reaching into the breast of her dress. From its depths, she retrieved another scalpel. “I’ll take the other one.”

“Kikyo, don’t be stupid. Don’t—”

“Now. Show our son you love me.”

There was a tremble in his sigh that Illumi had never seen before. In all of the times that they’d fought and Kikyo had threatened his life, he’d never been afraid. She’d hurt him. She’d broken his fingers and ripped his flesh open, and he’d never flinched. But now, his hands shook. Covered in her blood. “I can’t. Surely you can see, I can’t.”

She raised the scalpel and his knees nearly buckled. _Love_. His mother had been right. Love was the most powerful thing in the world. The only thing strong enough to bring his father to surrender. To fear. To absolute obedience. “Okay—I’ll do it. Please drop it.”

“No.” She hugged it to her bloody chest like a doll. “You’ll perform fully first. Give me your love, Silva. I am your wife. Prove to me how much you love me.”

He nodded, feet melted to the earth beneath him, too afraid to move. Waiting for her; helplessness and love incapacitating his body.

She calmly walked to the side of Illumi’s bed, bending and leaning her elbows on the whiteness beside him to steady herself. He was grateful that he couldn’t look into the black hole of her eye socket, and he wondered vaguely if love could make it grow back, like with her breastmilk. Her heart was hammering into the bed and he could feel it through the mattress. She gave him a kiss on the side of his head and said, “Do you see now, baby?”

He nodded and said, “Love is the strongest.”

Still clutching the scalpel to her sternum with her left hand, the same place Illumi’s had clutched Milluki’s while sleeping last night, she lifted the back of her dress up and over her hips with her right. She smiled at him, still panting in pain and excitement as father came up behind her, refusing to look at Illumi as he pressed his hips to her bare body.

The three of them gently rocked there for a while, his mother eventually dropping the scalpel to the bed and sighing happily. Illumi wiggled his fingers into the valleys of his mother’s fingers, watching her single eye flutter as she bit her bloodied lips. Even though his father wouldn’t look at him, Illumi knew they had both learned the same lesson. Love. And it would bond them forever, in the identical corners of their chest that Kikyo had dug out for them.

It took two more years and the destruction of her remaining eye to conceive Killua, but she smiled a mother’s smile, not at all upset about the sacrifices she’d had to make for love. That was part of love, he supposed—not dwelling on the things that one had to do for love. Moving forward, headstrong, and knowing that all things for love were worth doing. Justifiable and, ultimately, beautiful.

His parents didn’t fight anymore—the arrival of Killua in her womb had calmed all storms, as though he were a deity that had commanded them to stop. Silva stopped running; staying home and sipping tea peacefully next to his wife as if she’d never gouged out her eyes for his attention. The lights stayed comfortably dim, Illumi and Milluki sleeping deeply in their own beds every night. Sometimes their parents even tucked them in together, shared a proud smile over their first two children, and left the room with their fingers locked sweetly together.

In her pregnant glow, Kikyo told Illumi that the loss of her sight granted her the ability to see the baby in her womb. The baby was the heir, a baby boy, and he was everything that they’d hoped for. A child worthy of all sacrifices: pure white hair like his father’s, ice blue eyes, the perfect son and baby brother, the most powerful heir to ever grace the Zoldyck bloodline. This boy could have only been created by a mother who could love as strongly as she could. No one else in this world could have conceived him, Illumi was sure of it.

One night, just before bedtime, Kikyo took both of Illumi’s cheeks in her hands. Her fingers warmed him in ways he hadn’t realized he was cold. “All it took was two eyes, Illu. That’s such a small sacrifice for such a big gift.”

There was part of him that missed how her smile pushed up her face, changing the shape of her eyes. Instead, he stared into the screen of her visor, which had been a custom design created for her, costing billions of Jenny, and allowed her to see despite her eyes being sacrificed.

Illumi’s own eyes, identical to the ones she’d given up, reflected back at him when he spoke to her. He was the only one who could look at her and see her eyes looking back at him, as if she’d never lost them. “And love,” Illumi added.

She giggled. “And love, of course.” She took his head and pressed it to her belly, where the gentle sounds of Killua’s heartbeat reached his ear. He had been there to see what had almost certainly been Killua’s conception, and he would be sure to be there to witness Killua’s birth. He and Killua were already bonded through real love, even though the baby didn’t yet know it. When Killua came into this world, no one would know more about Killua than he did. If Illumi hadn’t suggested that his mother teach his father about real love, would Killua even exist? No. There was possibly no one more intertwined with Killua’s fate than Illumi. And he intended to see him through everything in his life, from start to finish, until Illumi’s own death took him from this earth.

“I love him,” Illumi said. His voice didn’t waver. He had never sounded more resolute in his life. Now that he knew what love meant and what love’s sacrifices looked like, he could say with his full heart, “I love him.”

“I know you do, baby.” She stroked his dark hair, running her nails along his scalp until it tingled. “It will be up to us, when he is born, to teach him about love. If he’s anything like your father, he won’t understand it with just one eye. It may take two, it may take more. But it’s important, isn’t it? To carve out a place in his chest where real love can live.”

It hurt his stomach to think about Killua living a life without knowing real love. Before Illumi had been taught, he was confused, scared. Now he was living in the light, able to recognize and be comforted by the love all around him. “I’ll carve it out for him. I won’t let him escape it.”

“You’re such a good boy, Illu.” Her voice started getting choked up. That was the biggest thing to get used to with the loss of her eyes. She used to cry so much, the tears easily rushing from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, chin, and fingers. Wetting her eyelashes and causing her dark eyes to shine brighter than anything.

Illumi lifted his head, planting a deep kiss onto his mother’s quivering lips. When he pulled back, he looked into her visor and watched her eyes cry back at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this crazy fic a read! 
> 
> Please leave me a comment!! Gimme a heart, a quote you liked, your opinion - anything and everything is appreciated. I love you all!!
> 
> Thank you for all of your love and support, you can find out more about me and ways to support my writing on https://twitter.com/shiroppan
> 
> Love,  
> Brocon ❤️❤️


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